


no one there

by threadoflife



Series: sherlock ficlets [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, He panic-crafts things before the wedding, M/M, Pining Sherlock, Please s4 let the poor man rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 15:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8850619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threadoflife/pseuds/threadoflife
Summary: Before the wedding, Sherlock spends his days and nights mildly panicking. In one of those fits he starts little projects of arts and crafts...





	

**Author's Note:**

> Don't look at me sherlock rebuilt the entire wedding reception area because he was panicking and pining and sad and alone and as always I had a ahskdlsfkg;;agdfk!!! reaction to that piece of information which is why I speed typed another thing down
> 
> Just FYI I don't invest much time in any of these. 5-10 minutes tops. I type it all on my phone in a fit of feels so that's why these ficlets usually have no titles or why the format might be a bit wonky... tumblr isn't the mobile friendliest webpage :(
> 
> And the app is even worse...

Sherlock is up all night, chain-smoking, head blank but a sick feeling in the stomach, obsessively–almost compulsively–working on a little replica of the wedding reception. The proportions aren't quite right though, there are one point three centimetres too much on the one side, the other is too short; the colours are not as authentic as the original, just a shade too bright, here a bit too dark; he didn't think of getting the proper material for the tables, or the chairs, or other decoration, didn't expect to be up all night, hadn't calculated properly…

“Fuck,” he finds himself cursing in the midst of this, when the glue runs out. He looks around for more glue, finds none, gets an itchy, restless feelings in his limbs, jumps up and frantically searches the flat for more glue–but there’s none. He can’t finish it now–does he have the ingredients to make some glue himself, white vinegar, flour, is there–

“ _Fuck,_ ” he spits, suddenly, as he trips over something and stubs his toe hard against the frame of the table. It isn’t really painful–that’s more the suddenness of it, the shock–but it jars him anyway, causes a burning rage to somehow surge up in his chest, a rage that makes his heart beat faster still, his face hot, his fingers twitch–

–but then he stares down at the dozens and dozens of paper folded Opera houses and swans, and all the other mess accumulated on the desk and the table before the window, in the corners, all over the floor and even reaching into the kitchen, and he realises it’s 3.21 in the night on a Wednesday, and he hasn’t slept in days, and the sickness in his stomach comes as much from dread as from terrible hunger, and he reeks, hasn’t showered in two and a half days and hasn’t left the flat in longer terrorising himself with the waltz for John and Mary and the colour scheme for the wedding and the bridesmaid’s dresses and the food menu–

and the anger drains out of him like an opened abscess, leaving behind only a hollowness in his chest, and a tightness in his throat he tells himself isn’t sadness, isn’t sorrow, isn’t _grief._

Stupid. It's not grief. Why should it be grief? Grief for what? Why? John is getting married. He’ll marry the person he loves.

There is no light coming in from outside. The night is still and silent, like the flat, like all of 221B.

There is just Sherlock, who hasn’t slept eaten been outside taken a shower practised basic hygiene in days, standing frozen in the middle of the room staring down at the ruins of his home. There is just Sherlock, who doesn’t understand the nothingness inside him, and who can’t name the feeling in his fingers, his throat, his chest.

And there is no one there to tell him to take care of himself, or to explain to him what is happening inside him. There is no one there.

**Author's Note:**

> http://wssh-watson.tumblr.com/post/154465008827/monikakrasnorada-wssh-watson-annyskod-he
> 
> This is the sinful post


End file.
